


Musical Therapy

by ghostlikemanner



Category: South Park
Genre: Abusive Parents, Craig and the boys, Drug Mentions, M/M, Main Four - Freeform, Music AU, au where tweek never stopped hanging out with the main four, it hurts me to use that tag i hate the tweaks, later on, underage drinking mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13940148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlikemanner/pseuds/ghostlikemanner
Summary: They say that music heals. It’s cheesy, but as Tweek’s fingers fly across the piano keys he can feel his heart calm, and his mind clear.That is till he comes to realize that Craig guy from class watching him with an intensity every damn time he’s onstage. Every note begins sounding out of key, every piece now a cacophonic representation of the anxiety coursing through him.What the hell does he want?





	1. Mick, Moop, and More

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this fic idea on watching Put It Down five times and listening to the Jersey Boys soundtrack just enough times.
> 
> This is my first time writing any of the boys other than Stan and a bit of Kenny, so any comments on characterization would be much appreciated!

Craig wouldn’t say he goes to Mick’s Bowling and Bar all the time, and he wouldn’t say most of the time either. Craig would much rather say he heads on over ‘whenever,’ with an absent minded shrug, and that look in his eyes that tells you he isn’t even really listening to you. It’s much more aloof that way.

Of course everyone knows that Mick’s is Craig and his boys’ afterschool spot, but they play along with him. He’s not even meant to get in, being seventeen and all, but Mick couldn’t give his left nut about who heads into the bar. Besides, kids usually pay stupid cash to drink some watered down beer.

Mick’s is a simple place; in the thirty years that it’s been open it has managed to never successfully leave the 80’s. If it weren’t for the gray hair, you could say Mick himself never changed. Craig didn’t like change, but he sure as fuck loves Mick’s Bowling and Bar.

Mick’s was never too busy, but always full enough that no one could recognize Craig and chat him up. From the barf-like decor, to the comfortingly shitty beer, Mick’s was more ‘home’ than home.

A part of the aesthetic that Mick never actually tried to achieve, was the use of live music in the bar. Mick had a soft spot for local talent, he must have been the most supportive adult of all of South Park.

There were only ever three bands that Mick kept around at one time. Whichever band managed to get the three-day-a-week gig at Mick’s was instantly seen as the rising stars of South Park, by the local high school students. It was as if Mick had a magic eye for talent, all the kids trusted him and his judgement above anything.

Craig knew the reality, though. Mick couldn’t give two shits, he just played favourites.

And the kids Mick’s had a soft spot for lately just happened to be the jackasses from Craig’s homeroom. Craig imagined that Mick was just too old to see how those five kids, that got up onto the two inch thick piece of wood that was Mick’s stage every other day, were the biggest assholes that ever were. Not that Craig ever thought of it too much. Someone just asked his opinion once or whatever.

  
They named themselves ‘Moop,’ something that was miraculously a unanimous decision. It’s so stupid of a name that, of course, everyone had to remember it. You couldn’t walk around any of the South Park High hangout spots without overhearing the word ‘Moop’ uttered with some form of confusion. No one actually likes that name apart from ‘Moop’ itself, but Craig would bet anything that that’s what they wanted.

He can almost hear that fat fucker that calls himself their frontman choke out through his cheesy poof caked throat that “All publicity is good publicity.”

He wasn’t wrong, though, if Moop’s newfound cult following meant anything. Moop’s fans were exceptionally loyal, it makes you wonder if they were forgetting these were the same classmates they all grew up with. It wasn’t uncommon for students to skip their last period on “Moop days” to get to Mick’s early and get the best seat possible.

“I just don’t really get your weird hatred for them.” Clyde walked away from his latest gutter ball to sit besides an all-too-obviously distracted Craig.

Craig thought he was being slick whenever he sat in the bench facing the stage across of Mick’s. He didn’t have to turn his head to hatewatch Moop as he waited his turn to bowl, and they were in the farthest back lane that he could easily deflect any claims that he was hatewatching in the first place.

“I don’t get how no one else hates them. Did I miss the memo where we decided to all collectively forget the shit they’ve pulled uptil now?”

“They’re just- I don’t know, cool now?”

“Cool.” Not even a question, just a single word spat out with pure disdain.

“Clyde, don’t even try.” Token shakes his head, putting his arm around Clyde as he sits besides him. “You know he doesn’t actually care if they’re cool or not,”

“ _Thank you_.”

Token gives Craig an amused smirk before continuing with his sentence. “He’s just still bitter about his birthday money.”

Clyde spins in his seat immediately turning his eyes to Craig, as if expecting an instant reaction due to Token’s absolute callout.

“Oh fuck right off, dude.”

“You know he’s r-r-righ-ri...right. Now go bowl, you a-aab-solute pussy.” Jimmy sits as soon as Craig’s out of his seat, storming a little too dramatically up the lane.

“A hundred dollars. How am I supposed to just let that go?” Craig rolls the ball, turning back to the conversation before even seeing the result of his throw. He’s just so cool like that.

“Well, it was kinda-“ Craig puts his hand up, cutting Clyde off.

“Doesn’t matter that it was seven years ago, it still happened. And the void that hundred dollars left in my heart has never once been filled.”

He steps down, grabbing a second ball, and scoffing pretentiously. “Besides that, they aren’t that fucking great anyway. The way kids treat them, you’d think they’re the fucking Beatles.”

“Cartman is a _total_ Lennon type.” Token agrees, turning back towards the stage, as if imagining Cartman playing the part.

The conversation continues as the boys assign a Beatle to each member. Craig goes silent, brooding on his own as he gets a strike.


	2. The Tweaks Are Shit At Naming And So Am I

“Don’t forget to try our fall blend, Tweek. You know your father needs to have it perfected and ordered by Thursday.”

The young boy gave a blank stare at the filled thermos set down at his spot at the breakfast table. A quick scan around the table only confirmed what he already knew, his parents weren’t drinking any coffee themselves this morning. They instead were enjoying some scrambled eggs and toast.

Tweek wouldn’t mind having some himself, but he knows better than asking. He can hear the polite tinkle of his mom’s voice chiming in with an explanation that, “You know eating before you have your first coffee hurts your stomach, Tweek dear.”

“Listen to your mother, Tweek.” His dad would fold up his newspaper, proud of the latest review the cafe had received. It’s the only time he ever read the paper. Current events weren’t Richard Tweak’s forte.

So, instead Tweek simply stares down at the thermos, hesitant to grab the thermos. His parents cut back on their caffeine intake by nearly half, they said something about “getting clean,” whatever the hell that meant. But, they insisted that this decision would not influence Tweek, he was their best employee after all.

“Your first cup of coffee is the most important meal of the day!” His mother simply pushes the thermos towards Tweek’s hands, after watching him stand there, twitching awkwardly.

“...I know.” And it might as well be true too, as Tweek never felt right without his cup of coffee. Those first minutes of the day always felt the hardest. Irritable and restless, like everything in him itches till his first sip.

It kind of really sucks.

Living as far as he does from school, Tweek likes to leave his home as early as he can. He tends to overdo it, and usually ends up being one of the first kids at school. It’s peaceful, and he’s able to prepare himself in his own time, so he couldn’t care less.

Tweek used to feel unsafe spending time on his own, especially walking outdoors where he is vulnerable to any sudden attack he may receive. There were ninjas hiding around the neighbourhood, and he swears those Raisins girls are made of pure evil, and those fucking gnomes too. There’s just way too much that can go wrong.

Though, as he’s aged he’s started feeling the opposite were true. Tweek’s come to peace with the silence, besides some of the ninjas are pretty polite.

It’s when he’s with his friends that his safety begins to be messed with. Mind you, Tweek loves having a friend group he can call his own, but uh- Well, his friends are like a magnet for dangerous shit. Tweek never knows what to expect with them, and he’s the kind of guy that would prefer a clear idea of what the fuck is going on.

Tweek’s finished half of his coffee by the time he’s made it to his locker, balancing the thermos in his elbow as his puts in his combination. There’s very few kids other than himself in the hallway at this early of a time, Tweek recognizes a few girls from the volleyball team; they must have had an early practice.

With his first period books in hand, Tweek happily makes his way over to the empty classroom.

Maybe it’s superstition, but Tweek feels as though he can get his best writing done in these early morning moments. There’s nothing stressful to interrupt his focus as the melodies that have been dancing through his mind transcribe themselves into his worn out notebook. None of the music he writes ever actually gets performed, as Moop only perform covers, sticking to the stuff they know and love. Good old classic rock.

Tweek hadn’t even originally wanted to be apart of Moop, he was actually very much against the idea. Performing live felt like nothing but absolutely stressful. Somehow Stan had come across the information that Tweek had taken piano lessons as a kid, causing the boys to then decide that he was not only needed in the band, but that Tweek would also be able to teach them all how to read and play music.

“Come on, dude, this is going to be our big break!” Kyle had thrown an arm around Tweek, which he had quickly loosened out of, and gestured to the group of instruments in front of them.

“Musicians are probably _the_ most respected people on Earth.” Stan stated matter of factly, causing Kenny to nod in sincere agreement.

“Guys, guys, let’s not gang up on Tweek,” the other boys were pulled backwards by Cartman, who wore an impressively fake sad expression, “All we’ve ever done is offer him an opportunity of the lifetime… If he just wants to throw that away, while simultaneously crushing all hopes for our own personal success, then that’s up to him.”

Needless to say, Tweek ended up giving in, even if only to get them to shut up. Individually his friends are cool, and interesting people. So what Tweek doesn’t understand is why when the four of them are together they transform themselves into giant stubborn assholes. Maybe Tweek can write a thesis on it one day, who fucking knows.

Joining Moop had luckily turned out for the better, as the boys actually did their part in learning how to play. Within a month the five of them were able to begin learning songs together, which only improved their motivation.

Being in a band with them had become real for Tweek the moment that Kenny announced he had scored a gig at Mick’s, being on good terms with The Mick and all. Stan had picked Kenny up into a bone-crushing hug, spinning him as the other three chanted his name. It was like a scene out of a shitty kids movie about dogs and basketball. Cartman announced the occasion called for some Shakey’s, Kenny’s bill to be split by the other four. After eating, the rest of the night was spent at Stark’s Pond, an abundance of soda keeping them up well into the night.

Tweek had been able to smile more in that night than he might ever have.

Having to teach musical theory to others ignited a passion for songwriting in Tweek. He composed pieces for the piano, rarely accompanied by lyrics. He doesn’t express himself too well with words, he never has and he’d much rather let the music speak for him instead.

Each strike of a chord, every resonating note is a piece of Tweek, his music acting as a diary of sorts.

If there’s anything he owes to Moop, it’s that they let him discover music in a way that he hadn’t been able to before. The only reason Tweek had ever even been in lessons before was to “class him up,” his piano lessons were very disciplined, and it was a desperate attempt by his parents to tame their spaz.

Even performing live hasn’t been all too much of an issue for Tweek. At first he had let his overthinking and anxious nature take the conductor’s seat, his head filled with nonsensical worst-case scenarios.

The first few shows at Mick’s had started late, as Tweek wasn’t capable of settling his nerves on his own. The boys weren’t of any help either, usually just asking that Tweek ‘cuts it out.’ Once Tweek had gotten used to performing, and realized that each show had been nothing short of a success, he was able to even look forward to playing.

It was borderline miraculous for him, having something in his life that makes him feel as confident and happy as it does. He’s in love with the feeling that the music gifts him, and Tweek knows he probably won’t be able to find anything that replicates this again. In that sense, it’s a fragile thing, and a deep part of Tweek stresses over it at times.

But, Moop has been active for nearly a year now, and Tweek continues feeling okay. He plays piano daily, any moment he has free his fingers itch to return to the keys. Everything pours out of him in those moments, filling the air with nimble melodies. His doubts, his anxieties, all of it becomes beautiful and it fades into nothing as soon as the piece comes to an end.

The school bell rings out, scaring Tweek out of his trance and causing him to fuck up the note he was writing.

“Hnng… Crap.” He rushes to erase the fuck-up, before opening his notes and listening to his lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m hoping that that whole practice makes perfect thing is going to work out with my writing as well. Writing isn’t easy, but damn I love it.
> 
> I’m glad the two intro chapters are through so we can get on to some actual .... craig and tweek interaction lmao
> 
> You can go here to see how I picture Craig and Tweek in this fic:   
> http://stansmarsh.tumblr.com/post/171944508200/just-posted-the-second-chapter-of-musical-therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Already writing the second chapter, gonna have some Tweek!


End file.
